I see my son over there, playing so innocently. He lines up his toys front to back in an order that only he knows. The only right order.
His concentration is so intense, I can almost hear it.
Then I see the specter looming over my child, watching his every move.
I try to cry out, but my scream is a whisper. I desperately try to warn my child, I want to run and protect him, but my body is bound by some unseen force.
The spirit looks back at me, over his shoulder and grins. I can see each sharp tooth in that smile and I shiver into silence.
He leans in and reaches to grab my son, to take the light from my life. I hear my son start to bawl as the ghost laughs at our mutual misery and again I try to scream.
This time, the sound comes. And as my shriek escapes my lungs and fills the room too late, all light disappears.
The dark is overwhelming.
All I can hear is the echo of my cry, that sense that nobody heard me.
My breath comes ragged, too quickly, I wonder where he is.
I turn my head right and left, but that is all the movement my invisible bonds allow. My cries are again whispers.
I smell a stench unlike any before. It reminds me of something darker than death, of overwhelming fear tangled with the deepest pain and suffering.
I can’t see through the perfect black.
Suddenly, I know it’s there. I can sense it, hear it, smell it. I can taste its smell in the back of my throat, a burning bitterness that threatens to bring up bile.
I hear the light pop of joints moving. I hear its breath more labored.
Or is that my breath?
And then I feel its breath on the back of my neck and the light, playful touch of its tongue as it gently kisses my neck.
My scream is real this time and I sit up in my bed, panting, frightened, shaking. I grab my chest.
I see a soft light from under the door and know where I am. I hear my son’s soft cry through the monitor and realize he woke me, saved me from an erotic horror I wanted no part of.
I start to calm, then hear a soft noise around me.
I fill with dread again. It couldn’t have followed me back out of my dream, could it have?
I feel a touch like a tendril, from the bottom of my jaw down my neck, slowly following some trail. My breath catches and I am able to scream.
I slap away the touch.
Then I realize the touch was nothing more than a droplet of sweat cascading down from my hair.
Goddamned menopause. These night sweats are going to kill me.